


A Special Day

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Silly, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:18:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1722833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones and the rest of the crew must celebrate a Roylan holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Special Day

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I didn’t tag pairings because this is mostly Gen, but, y’know, it’s got the usual canon Spirk and whatnot because that’s just Star Trek.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Besides, they’re a whole different consistency. The tops are doughy and soft and the bottoms are hard and you get little ridges in the side from—” Leonard cuts himself halfway through his muffin rant before deciding with a scowl, “Oh, never mind, you’re never gonna get it.”

“Better for us if he doesn’t,” Jim throws in, from where he’s lounging in his captain’s chair, smirking too much at the usual arguments going on around him. “This way he can eat the bottoms for us, and we’ll have all the tops.”

“I have no intention of eating the undesirable portions of your meals for you,” Spock says wryly. Unlike Jim and Leonard, who understand that there’s nothing more important than the three of them talking, right here and now, Spock’s staring down at the PADD in his hands, scrolling various data. Jim chuckles.

“What if I made it an order?”

“Forget it,” Leonard grumbles, “I don’t need the hobgoblin licking food off my plate, thanks.” He gets a small spike of satisfaction when Spock finally looks at him, albeit rather coldly. 

Jim laughs louder and reaches to pat Spock on the back, announcing, “It’s okay, Commander. You can lick food off my plate anytime.”

Spock doesn’t bother to dignify any of that with a response. He turns back to his PADD. When Leonard’s gaze finally leaves the first officer, he’s not particularly surprised to find Sulu glancing backwards at them, grinning in amusement. He turns back to the helm as soon as Leonard catches him. Jim starts to say, “You know—”

But the turbolift doors open, cutting him off. Because it’s the sort of slow day that amplifies any change at all, Leonard and Jim look over at the door. Scotty comes bustling in, patting a bit off dust off his red uniform—it looks like he’s come straight from mopping out a conduit. He marches for the center of the bridge, and before the turbolift doors even get a chance to close, he’s saying, “Captain, I need to speak with you immediately.”

Concern creasing Jim’s face, he asks, “Everything okay down there? You didn’t break my ship, did you?”

Scotty instantly looks offended and insists, “Of course no’! She’s runnin’ like a well oiled machine down there.” No one dares point out that the Enterprise _is_ a machine. “It’s about my staff.”

“Your staff?”

“The wee monster completely forgo’ to tell me, can you believe it? Bloody last minute, but there it is.”

“Forgot to tell you _what_?” Jim asks, while Leonard’s brain wracks itself to figure out what wee monster is apparently aboard the Enterprise.

“His holiday.”

Jim blinks. “What?”

“Keenser. Royla. His planet. Apparently today is some sorta holiday for ‘em. They call it...” He looks deep in thought for a moment, then waves his hand. “Bah, I forget, but never you mind. The point is, the poor bugger’s too afraid to tell you, but I only think it’s fair if we do somethin’ for it.”

Leonard looks down at Jim for his answer, who’s looking mildly surprised. A few of the other bridge officers are glancing over at the commotion, but most are just quietly listening amidst their usual job. Fixing Scotty with a stern look, Spock says first, “The Enterprise is a Starfleet vessel, Mr. Scott. Considering the diverse makeup of our crew, it would be highly illogical to celebrate each individual species’ respective holidays.”

“But Captain,” Scotty presses, ignoring Spock in favour of Jim. “He’s a good worker—the very best, in my opinion—and the little guy never asks for much. Besides,” he adds, now looking back up and gesturing at Spock, “we celebrated the Vulcan holidays. Or you did, anyway.”

Confused, Leonard looks at Spock; he doesn’t remember any Vulcan holidays. Surely if they’d happened, he’d still be teasing Spock about them. Spock looks equally at a loss and lifts one elegantly sloped eyebrow. From his seat, Jim asks, “Vulcan holidays?”

“Yeah,” Scotty says, like it’s obvious and everyone knows about it. “When you and Mr. Spock got to do that pon-what’s-its thing.” Leonard’s eyes widen about as much as Jim’s, but he has to quickly catch himself to cover a snort. Now Spock’s paying full attention; his arm with the PADD has dropped to his side, and he looks somewhere between tense as a rock and mildly horrified. Of course, _pon farr_ isn’t common knowledge, even among the medical crews that _need_ to know about it, but now the whole bridge is going to be curious. Scotty goes on, “...If you don’t mind me sayin’, Sir, I didn’t think it was particularly fair that only you got to celebrate it, but at least the rest of us can enjoy the Roylan one.”

Leonard bites the inside of his lip. He’s tempted to clarify: to ask if Scotty’s suggesting the entire crew engages in the Vulcan holiday of _pon farr_ , but he knows he couldn’t keep a straight face through it. Leonard keeps his eyes on Spock’s face, because it’s priceless. He doesn’t seem to know what to say, but it’s obvious that he wants to say _something_ , _anything_ that’ll stop this discussion from going any further. 

Jim throws a mischievous, knowing smile to Spock and muses, “Well, we did celebrate pon-what’s-its...”

“Captain...” But there’s nothing Spock can say, so instead he helplessly closes his mouth again. 

Jim turns back to Scotty and nods. “Alright, Scotty; you win. I can hardly turn over the whole ship, though. Will a few of us do?”

“Aye, that you will,” Scotty answers with a nod, clearly pleased. “I’ll go let the wee beastie know.”

“Alright. Will the briefing room work?”

“I’ll see you there in a few minutes.” As soon as he’s gotten Jim’s dismissive nod, Scotty’s strolling back to the turbolift, looking quite pleased with himself. He turns around inside, and the doors close behind him.

Leonard looks sideways to nastily prod, “Jeeze, Spock, way to hoard those Vulcan holidays.”

Jim throws his head back and starts to really _laugh,_ while Spock marches stiffly towards the doors.

* * *

Jim leaves Darwin in the captain’s seat, since, obviously, if Leonard’s going to endure this torture, Spock must too. Scotty’s usually next in line for the conn, then Sulu, but they’re both here, along with Chekov and Uhura. Scotty and Keenser are last to arrive, holding hands, and when Leonard lifts an eyebrow at them, Scotty turns a delicate shade of pink and shrugs. 

“’Said it’s part of the tradition.”

“What is?” Sulu asks.

“Holding hands.”

“Oh.” Sulu puts one hand over Chekov’s which were both flat on the table of the briefing room. Chekov blinks down at it, blushing lightly, before turning his hand around, palm up, so they can hold hands properly. Leonard promptly shoves both of his under the table before Jim gets any stupid ideas. 

“So, Mr. Keenser,” Jim starts, with his hands on the table top and a semi-diplomatic look on his face, broken up by his grin. “I hear it’s a special day on Royla. In honour of your exemplary work on this ship, we’d be happy to celebrate with you.”

Keenser’s beady little eyes stare up at Jim, then dart sideways, and he lifts his free arm to point at the floor. “No table,” he grunts, succinct. Leonard’s never heard him talk much, and apparently today’s not that different. Scotty’s already in stride, bypassing the table to sit on the floor behind it. It’s better proportioned for Keenser, anyway; the chairs aren’t tall enough for him and the table’s too high. There’s not much room on the floor, but they’re not a large group. 

Leonard can practically _feel_ Spock’s body screaming in protest, but Jim’s already standing up, and they all follow. They settle down on the floor in a crude circle, mashed together between pushed-back chairs and the wall. Leonard sits on one of Jim’s sides, Spock on the other, Uhura next to him, and Sulu and Chekov after that. Keenser’s between Chekov and Scotty, with Scotty on Leonard’s other side.

Jim claps his hands together and says, “Right, we’re on the floor. What’s next?” Leonard was looking at Scotty, who’s thus far been the messenger, but Jim directs his question at Keenser, who, for a moment, is silent as the rock he could easily pass for. 

He says something crackling and deep; something in Roylan, Leonard realizes belatedly. When the Universal Translators in all their ears seem to fail, they look at Uhura, who seems confused, and asks, “Say that again?”

So Keenser barks the same noise, then adds something garbled that comes out as, “Crayons.”

“Crayons?” Leonard repeats, skeptical. But Uhura’s nodding like it all makes sense now.

“Paper would be the closest thing. But I don’t think we’ll have paper and crayons lying around.”

“I could find some,” Chekov suggests, looking eagerly over to his captain for permission, but Jim shakes his head.

“Will PADDs do? They all have standard doodle apps.”

Keenser looks up at Scotty, and Scotty looks down at Keenser. If Leonard didn’t know better, he’d say they were having an entire discussion without uttering a single world. But then, it might just as well be possible; he’s seen Jim and Spock do the same thing, and sometimes, he and Jim manage. Finally, Keenser shrugs, and Scotty interprets, “That’ll do.”

Before anyone else can volunteer, Chekov leaps up with a hearty, “I’ll get zhem.” He’s out the doors in an instant.

As soon as they’ve shut behind him, Uhura asks Keenser politely, “What exactly is this holiday called? I’ve never celebrated anything Roylan before.”

Keenser pauses for a moment—something that’s now clearly a simple habit—then chirps, “Appreciation Day.” That, too, takes the translators a minute. 

Uhura nods, but Jim’s the one to jump in and say, “That sounds like Thanksgiving. We have a similar tradition on Earth. ...We didn’t sit on the floor and draw, but I suppose what we do might seem strange to other cultures...” He stops and glances sideways at Spock. “Have I explained turkeys to you?”

Spock, tight-lipped, doesn’t answer, but Jim, with Leonard’s help, kindly launches into an explanation anyway.

* * *

When Chekov returns and hands out the eight PADDs, Keenser’s at the tail end of his very brief instructions. Sulu fills in for him, “We’re drawing out families.” Chekov looks momentarily skeptical, and that’s about how Leonard feels; he’s starting to feel like a child.

He has about as much skills with a pencil. Or a stylus. The thought of drawing his family is... complicated. He supposes his ex doesn’t exactly count anymore, and it irks him to know that he can’t draw his daughter from memory. Like he so often does, he tries to shove that to the back of his mind. Maybe Keenser won’t be offended if he just sits and _pretends_ he’s drawing. 

On one side of him, Scotty’s sketching something so messy that it’s impossible to interpret. Maybe he has a mother with three heads. Or maybe those are arms. Leonard can’t tell and looks at his other side instead. 

Jim, in typical _Jim_ fashion, is drawing a rather puffed-up, broad-chested version of himself, with Spock on one side, and a quickly forming Leonard McCoy on the other. The colour of the uniforms helps distinguish somewhat, but otherwise the hair is the only way to tell any of them apart. It’s not a terrible picture, really, considering that none of them artists, but it’s not that good, either. Hopefully, it won’t end up hanging like a portrait in the captain’s cabin. 

Beyond Jim, Spock is working on a very realistic-looking portrait of Ambassador Sarek, specifically of his frowning face. The short cropped bangs and pointed ears and hard eyes are unmistakable. Figures the hobgoblin would be magically good at drawing. Leonard shakes his head and sighs; this is very, _very_ stupid. 

Jim suddenly looks at him with an expectant look, and Leonard scowls back and starts drawing crude stick figures that may or may not be him and Jim on a fence post in Georgia. Fortunately for his pride, his talent is even more lacking than Scotty’s, and it’s doubtful anyone will be able to recognize them. ...Then he adds an angry looking, pointy-eared barn cat in the background just to include Spock. He’s not a total jerk.

* * *

They take entirely _way_ too long to draw their ‘families.’ At first, everyone is quiet and bent in concentration, but then it devolves into comparisons and laughter and heated explanations of the Russian countryside. Surprisingly, Scotty’s the first one to give up, and he asks his little companion over Uhura’s interested comments on Sarek’s handsome mug, “Can we move on now?”

Jim answer for him, “Yes, but everyone give me these.”

“You’re not keeping them,” Leonard flat lines, but Jim doesn’t seem to hear and snatches the PADD out of his hands before he can protest anymore. Jim collects all of them and places them behind himself, up on the table, perhaps for later processing. Keenser fidgets—he’s made it down to lying on his stomach, stubby legs kicking in the air. Some people had more fun drawing than others. 

“Snacks,” Keenser says, and everyone looks at him patiently for elaboration. He makes a humming noise, then clarifies, “Cookies and milk.” Chekov brightens immediately, while Leonard nearly drops his head into his hands. He doesn’t even want to think about where ‘milk’ comes from on Royla, but on Earth, milk and cookies isn’t exactly a man’s meal. 

Jim, now thoroughly invested in this twisted alien nonsense, turns to the lowest-ranking member of their crew to ask, “Chekov, could you make a run to the mess hall Synthesizer?”

Chekov nearly salutes and springs to his feet, chirping, “Yes sir.” Then he’s out the door, and Sulu, carefully watching Jim to see if he’ll get away with it, lies down on his stomach like Keenser. Leonard’s starting to feel like they’ve all de-aged way past acceptable Starfleet limits. 

Jim’s never been that mature to begin with, or at least, in certain situations. Out of respect for alien cultures, Leonard holds his tongue, but he knows damn well that if this were a Vulcan holiday, he’d be grumbling up a storm. 

His only consolation is that Spock seems as uncomfortably disturbed as him, even if Spock’s hiding it better. While they wait for Chekov, Uhura yawns—lazing around and drawing is drowsy business—and then smiles sheepishly.

* * *

After they eat their milk and cookies—in Spock’s case, just milk, as he won’t eat with his hands whatever the circumstance—Keenser makes a rippling sound that nearly makes Leonard jump out of his shoes. It takes him a moment to realize that it must be the Roylan version of a yawn, and Jim follows up with the human version a minute later, asking around it, “Now what?”

“Nap,” Keenser mumbles. 

Leonard’s already got his mouth open, but Scotty’s beat him to the punch. “Wha’ do you mean ‘nap’? You want us to _sleep_? Right here?”

Keenser just nods, and Uhura points out, “Like a siesta. The Spanish culture on Earth does something similar.”

“I think I’ve sent Chekov on enough errands; anyone want to fetch pillows?” Jim asks, much to Leonard’s surprise: this is really, _really_ getting ridiculous. Chekov lifts a hand, clearly about to say he doesn’t mind, but Jim waves him aside. “Oh, never mind, we’ll manage. Spock, lie down.”

“Captain—” Spock’s incredulity is barely restrained.

“That’s an order, Commander,” Jim insists, and he starts pushing Spock down physically. Spock, amazingly, manages to resume a straight face as Jim wrestles him to the floor. Uhura’s already curling up on her arms, Sulu and Chekov are draping over each other, and Scotty’s lying on his back with his arms crossed for a pillow as though he does this all the time. 

Leonard’s left sitting up, drained but still containing dignity, and has a strange flashback to kindergarten. He hasn’t had a nap with others on the floor since then, anyway. Nor did he ever think he would again. He shakes his head and grunts in irritation—this is unbelievable, but Jim tugs at his sleeve and tells him sternly, “Bones, respect the Roylan culture.”

“Jim—”

And just like that, Jim’s in captain mode, glaring sternly and leaving no room to fight. Leonard grumbles anyway, but he does lie down on his side, up against Jim’s back. He has to shift a few times to get even vaguely comfortable against the cold, hard floor, and he uses one arm for a pillow. Jim’s warm against his back. Jim’s insane.

They’re all insane. Insane, well-fed, terrible-at-drawing, useless toddlers. Leonard half hopes Darwin’ll drive them into a wormhole so they’ll have to run back to the bridge. 

But that doesn’t happen, so he ends up stiffly lying in place for _way_ too long, while Jim and Scotty start to snore around him and Sulu and Chekov whisper and giggle like the children they are. Uhura probably sleeps silently. Leonard’s sure that if he sat up, he’d find Spock just as awake as him, but he doesn’t want to risk moving and waking Jim and having to start this all over. 

Eventually, he starts to drift off, and his last coherent thought is: _damnit._

* * *

A loud ringing sound wakes Leonard up—static on the comm system. Jim stirs next to him, snorting to life, while Leonard yawns loud enough to knock out a few seconds of sound. He wants to drift back off, except that the floor is hard and it’s made his shoulder stiff, and he’s remembering that he’s sprawled out in the briefing room with the rest of the ‘senior’ staff.

 _“Lieutenant Darwin to Captain Kirk,”_ the intercom tells them. _“It’s the end of Alpha shift. What should I...?”_

Jim cuts off his own yawn and manages to mutter, rubbing at his eyes, “Hold on. I’ll be there soon.” The comm clicks off, and Jim drops his head and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, harder this time. 

Leonard scratches the back of his head. Uhura’s adjusting her uniform, Spock’s sitting cross-legged, like he was meditating the whole time, Sulu and Chekov are stretching, and Scotty’s yawning louder than a bear. Keenser’s sitting stoutly up, his alien face unreadable.

When he regains himself, Jim announces, “Guess our shifts are all over, guys. Unless there’s more in this holiday...?”

“Hugs,” Keenser chirps.

“ _Hugs?_ ” Leonard chokes. In his peripherals, Sulu’s already leaning over to hug Chekov tightly, who laughs. This is just... this is absurd. There’s a crick in his back from sleeping on an angle. It’s horrifying. He might not have the strength to protect himself from unwanted affection right now. _Naps._ Ridiculous. Hugs? Even worse.

But Keenser seems serious; he turns to Scotty with open arms, and Scotty falls into them, muttering, “Weird little holiday, yeh weird little beastie...” But he does it. Leonard watches them embrace despite their size difference, then shoves Jim away without looking when he feels strong arms try to sneak around him. When he glances backwards, Jim, undeterred, is turning his attention to a very tense Spock, who’s already being hugged on the other side from Uhura. They take the longest, and when they finally let Spock go, Jim turns to Keenser again. 

“Well, Mr. Keenser, it seems you’ve successfully gotten us all out of a shift. But I do have to get back to the bridge at some point. Would you mind if I took my first officer and headed back?”

Keenser bows his head in what seems like gratitude, answering, “Is fine.” Jim smiles back brightly and lifts to his feet, tugging Spock up by the elbow and stretching out his arms. 

Leonard just stares up at him, somewhere between a scowl and incredulity, and snaps, “What about me?”

Jim tells him bluntly, “You spurned my hug.”

“But—”

“Bah. Captain’s orders, Bones.” And he gives Leonard a mocking salute before marching to the door, leaving a big hole in the circle between Leonard and Uhura. As soon as the briefing room seals back around them, Scotty picks up where Jim left off.

“What next?”

“Nothing,” Keenser chirps.

“It’s over?”

“Made it up.”

The room settles into a heavy silence, all eyes fixed on the little oyster-man that stole their whole shift. With, apparently, something made up. Leonard can’t even believe it. But... they drew their families. And ate milk and cookies. And napped. ...And generally regressed to five year olds.

Uhura’s the first to move; she looks at Sulu, as though for confirmation, and he just stares back at her, blinking in confusion. He shrugs. Chekov’s turning a faint pink. 

Leonard’s speechless. Maybe they heard wrong. 

“You...” Scotty asks, for once stunned into silence. “You made it all up...? There’s... there’s no Appreciation Day?”

Keenser shrugs his little shoulders. “Needed a work break.”

Then Scotty explodes, “What d’ya mean you made it up?! I didn’t have to hug you?! But I—I told the captain and everything! Why you... you... you want a hug, ey? I’m gonna suffocate you to death!” And he promptly follows through on his promise, leaping at Keenser and tackling the poor Roylan to the ground, who just barely manages to open his arms back in time. The pair of them flip over a few times, locked bizarrely between a bear hug and actually fighting bears. Leonard stares at them until he regains his senses. 

Then he pushes to his feet fast enough to make him stumble, still a tad lightheaded from the nap. It’s slowly hitting him that he lost an entire day’s worth of work and left the ship without a chief medical officer for _no reason_. 

Sulu and Chekov seem less upset, and Sulu decides, “I guess we can go back to our quarters, then.” His smile says that he finds this whole thing amusing—obviously, he doesn’t mind being made to play a toddler as much as Leonard does. 

Uhura dons a slow smile to match. “C’mon, we should leave them to it.” She makes as if to grab Leonard’s sleeve, but he’s already marching for the door. Nope. _Nope._ This entire thing did _not_ happen.

In fact, he’s not even going to tell Jim it was all a lie, because the last thing he wants to do right now is go bring this fiasco up on the bridge. A part of him wants Keenser punished, but the rest of him doubts there actually _will_ be a punishment—lord knows Jim likes milk and cookies. And an excuse to hug people, the brat. 

When Leonard reaches the turbolift, he barks the order for his quarters, deciding it’s too dangerous to eat dinner in the mess hall. What he has to do is go far, far away, where Jim will never find him, and they’ll never talk about this ever again.

He can still hear the sounds of Scottish shouting all the way until the turbolift doors close. At least there’s someone aboard that feels more foolish than him.


End file.
